You’re Dexter’s oldest biological child. In your late teens, he had you during a one night stand after his senior prom. After she got kicked out, your mom couldn’t contact Dex to tell him about her pregnancy, so you grew up in a shitty little house in Georgia with an addict mother until she eventually OD’d when you were 15. You never blamed her for her problems, it wasn’t her fault for having to live with all that stress of being a struggling teen mom after all.

After that, it was foster care, using the word “care” very lightly. No one wanted a teenager, so you decided to track Dexter down. It wasn’t hard, he had an important job so his name and face was on a lot of articles about court cases “forensics expert, Dexter Morgan” looked to be pretty damn good at his job.

You had finally tracked him down. Your dad, who didn’t know you existed. Everything you ever thought or wrote about saying to him for the first time suddenly blanked your mind as you rang the doorbell of the lovely suburban house. Your stomach was in knots, but you didn’t have time to think about it as the door instantly opened as he stepped outside, dressed for work. You obviously caught him just caught him before he went.

He looked at you with an inquisitive expression.

“Hey, who are you? Haven’t seen you in the neighbourhood.” He sounded normal… Too normal.